Resurrection
by ASiriusAuthor
Summary: Otis never went to the Academy, and the reasons are kept well under-wraps. Only Miss O really knows about Otis's secret. Of course, it can't stay that way, now can it?...


Lots of stuff going. *sigh* but I managed it.

This is a sequel (sort of) to _Reformed_... it's really more of a world-building expansion, with a plot... or maybe I accidentally wrote the world-builder first... who knows. Anyways, if you haven't read Reformed already, you might want to, because it provides a lot of background... Some of that background is necessary to fully understand what's going on in this story. If you have read Reformed already, then this is just a plot-bearing, world-building expansion, so _Cheers!_

Furthermore, this chapter was started before Oscar and Dr. O left for other venues, so this occurs before those events, and departs from canon in about the same time. Subsequent chapters will ivolve Oona. **Note** : I have nothing against Oscar and Dr. O, in fact they're two of my favorite characters. But as it stands, they will function as semi-antagonists for the purposes of this story.

T rating will not likely be fully earned until the next two chapters. But they will be earned.

I can also not promise expediency of chapters, but I can tell you that they will arrive.

* * *

He didn't mean to make Dr. O's pants explode. He didn't. Honest. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Although... Otis's kneejerk reactions didn't _normally_ mean that someone's pants exploded, but... you know, it could have been a whole lot worse, in retrospect. It wasn't as if he made _Dr. O_ explode, right? It was just her pants. Pants were replaceable. Agents weren't.

Of course, it wasn't as if Otis had been in mortal danger, anyways.

It had been a normal (normal? Puh-lease.) check-up when it happened. Dr. O made it a priority to officially make sure everyone was medically A-OK every six months, so... it was kind of a big deal. Otis just happened to land himself in the thick of it. At least, that's what he told himself. He had only been there for a little while, but the clock had ticked down, and everyone had to be given an examination to test for odd illnesses that slipped under the radar.

Usually it wasn't very awkward, he was told. After all, Dr. O only had to take a few readings and she was done.

Still- since no one but Miss O knew about Otis's... condition, and he had deduced that his powers would show up on the medical reader, and that made him edgy. Furthermore, whenever he got nervous or excited, the energy had a bad habit of spiking in time with his pulse. So, you know, extra horrible.

When he sat down, he was practically hyperventilating. It only would take a small amount of unnatural energy to read on Dr. O's instruments, so with all the stress and panic, he might as well have had a huge, light-up sign over his head that read, "YOLO, everybody, I'm a Weirdo; take me away in handcuffs, please!"

So, when she brought the little reader near, the instruments began screeching, his pulse spiked, and his energy nearly became visible as it wreathed around his entire body.

"What... Lock down headqaurters, this is a _medical emergency_!"

In order to understand his quandary, you must first have a bit of... understanding of magic, if you will. In all reality, Otis was less of a superhero, and more of a conduit. He could use his powers at will, but over time, his powers would build up, and the results were like a surge at a power plant. So, he also had to use his powers regularly to somewhat deplete the surge. If he didn't, it could very well lead to a genuine explosion.

The energy build-up could be attributed to his own actions as well. For example, if he were ready for a blast of energy, and yet never used it... He never even wanted to _try_ that one.

In both concept and engendered embarrassment, it was somewhat like... Wetting the bed. If one was simply sleeping, it usually wouldn't happen and you can go the whole night without an accident. However, upon being scared silly for some potentially mundane reason in the middle of the night, one was likely to do it.

Usually, his powers would only gradually build up, and he could easily alleviate the excess through small, benign tasks (like lifting juice boxes, or stacks of files). But if he didn't alleviate it... Bad things could happen.

See, the energy buildup was almost proportionate to the damage that could be caused by unleashing such energy in a small room. Which made him apprehensive about simply letting the surge ravage the room, and potentially a sizable portion of headquarters.

Still, a powerful, directed blast was better than an outright explosion (he had nearly lost his powers that way, and it had _hurt_ ).

So Otis focused on the nearest thing he could think of that was the most likely to spontaneously combust, and wouldn't hurt anyone outside when it did. Unfortunately, his target of choice was Dr. O's pants. In retrospect, he probably could have picked better, but what was done was done.

Therefore, if you can imagine the power capable of obliterating several rooms destroying someone's pants, that was a pretty good estimate of what happened. Luckily, Otis was able to direct the blast outward, so that Dr. O would receive barely a single singe or a scratch when her pants exploded.

The rest of the room wasn't quite so lucky. There was black soot covering the walls, and pieces of singed fabric lying around. Some of the equipment survived the exploding pants, but enough of it didn't.

After Dr. O's pants exploded... Well, things kind of went _downhill_ from there.

He fled the smoking room, coughing and regretting his choice, only to be met by about a dozen security agents standing outside, waiting for him. Of course they were. You couldn't swing a dead cat without Security knowing. And, quite frankly, Owen wasn't the nicest of people when it came to his job.

The security force was fully armed with stun rifles, helmets, armor, riot shields- the whole works. And they were all pointed at him. _Fantastic_.

So, he did what any normal (normal?) person would do. His survival instincts involuntarily kicked in as he let loose a blast of bright gold energy that knocked half of the force down.

And they shot him. Or, at least- they tried. It was difficult for them. Being... unfortunately _experienced_ with such events, he was accustomed to it, and did not succumb to the stun charges. Energy wreathed around his entire body as he threw security officers against the wall, and the entire office descended into anarchy... You know, kind of like having a miniature sun in the middle of headquarters. He caught a glimpse of himself in the glass of the ball pit.

He was practically glowing with the energy that flew around him in chaotic winds and allowed him to float in the air... but he didn't quite look like himself of yesteryear. His former self was a _lot_ scarier.

Suddenly his gaze was pulled away from his own reflection to see his partner, trying to walk towards him through the glowing winds...

If Olympia hadn't been so terrified, she would have thought the entire event was so, so _cool_! Here Otis was- making things fly around and smash other stuff... actually, that was pretty bad. But still, her partner could fly and make things and—whoop!—she ducked to avoid a flying potted plant.

"Otis!" She shouted to him, in an attempt to get his attention away from Owen, who was screaming like a bloody murder as energy flew around him and lifted him off the ground...

"What?" Otis made eye contact with Olympia. His voice was hollow and unnatural-sounding, even to his own ears.

"Let Owen go- I just want to talk with you."

Otis's brow furrowed as he thought.

"Otis, you're better than this! You don't make oddness; you're like...one of the _least odd people I know_!"

Otis nearly laughed aloud, and Owen fell five feet, unceremoniously, to the floor. "I guess you don't know many people, then. Because I'm about as odd as it gets." He gave a little snarl upon realizing that Owen had by this time scrambled away.

" _Titus_!" His gaze turned from Owen, to Miss O's office that was only slightly higher than he was at this point.

"I... _I'm sorry, Oprah_ ," he said, his echoing voice despondent. A bit more level: "I guess people really don't change. I tried. I really did."

" _Otis_ ," Olympia yelled from the floor. "You can still make this all better! Just come back down, we can talk this all out! We don't want to hurt you!"

"Move, Olympia... It's the only way," shouted a voice from behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Oscar carrying two strange-looking gadgets, and a...

"DUCK!" Otis nearly screamed, and dropped unceremoniously to the floor, any traces that anything had happened were almost completely gone. He was breathing hard, but he wasn't glowing anymore. Furthermore, his body seemed to be still trying to summon the golden energy, but couldn't quite get a hold on it.

The duck in Oscar's arms merely quacked in response to the whole ordeal.

Oscar set the duck on the ground, and approached Otis, bearing one of the gadgets. "Handcuffinator," he said simply, almost sorrowful.

A pair of metal handcuffs appeared on Otis's wrists, locking his hands behind his back. Otis shook his head, still stunned, "I don't think those are going to hold me if I wig out again..."

Oscar sighed. "I don't, either. Which is why I have this, too. I'm... I'm really sorry." He slowly pulled out the other gadget, and knelt down beside Otis.

Otis attempted to turn to look up at him. "Sorry? Sorry about what?" And then he felt it. Cold metal latched around his neck, draining the energy away.

"De-magic-inator."

...

He had never felt so humiliated in his life. The handcuffs were bad enough, but a collar? It was like Belarus all over again.

 _"Please, I've told you everything I can, just let me go! Stop, it hurts!... STOP!..."_

He wasn't sure he would be able to deal with something like that again.

In a sudden panic, he tried to call upon his magic again, but the collar siphoned it away just out of reach as soon as he did. The more he called, the more it drained.

Otis tried to sit up, at least... he edged his legs under himself and tried to lift himself upwards. Which, he promptly regretted as the room spun around him and he slumped back down on the floor.

He laid there for a few moments as everyone just milled around, trying to figure out _what just happened?_ and even more important, what to do about it.

Otis had a good enough idea what they were considering doing about it, and he didn't like it. Surprise, surprise, he was odd, just like always. He'd get kicked off the Squad, or maybe even stuck in his own special room at Odd Squad, like a robot princess. Which was really another way of saying solitary confinement. He was done with getting stuck in a place he didn't want to be and had no business being... But that collar. It was hard enough not to sick all over the floor, much less flee from likely his _former_ friends like a bat outta Hades.

Miss O walked down to them... to him, and knelt down just as Owen and his security team recovered and were beginning to cautiously encroach again.

He looked up at her, at a loss for words. Maybe the collar took them away, too...

"I'm sorry, Ti. I really am. But my hands are tied. Not with licorice strands, I mean."

Otis simply averted his gaze. A big part of their deal of him staying at Odd Squad was that he couldn't let his powers get out of control, even if he did get them all back. Even if he did it subconsciously, he'd been the one who broke the deal... He'd broken the deal.

He was so disoriented and lost in thought that he barely heard Miss O talking to Owen about "Emergency Measures".

Somehow still, even as they carried Otis away, down the hallway to presumably some sort of cell (what did he say. He knew them all-too-well.), he had never felt so alive. So... so ready. And never before in his life had it felt like he was holding his breath, just... just waiting for something to happen... He felt them quite literally throw him into a room, then shut the door, which, by the sound of the lock, was more like the door to a _safe_ than a mop closet.

He sat up against the wall in the dark room and smiled slightly... Even with the collar, which made him feel awful, he had never been able to access that much magic since the accident—it was encouraging. Like being able to finally wiggle fingers after getting your hand stomped on. Maybe it was recovery. Maybe it was redemption.

Maybe it was Resurrection.


End file.
